


Temptation Accomplishing

by Davechicken



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:01:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21871870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: Aziraphale is also a rules lawyer. If Crowley was the first, he was the second.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 66





	Temptation Accomplishing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [laurashapiro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurashapiro/gifts).



It was not good. Of course it was not ‘good’. The very nature of demonic work was to be quite, quite the opposite. 

Aziraphale still could not believe he had agreed to this. He had, in fact, considered saying he _would_ do the Temptation (which had earned itself a capitalisation in his mind), but then _not do it_ , making Crowley responsible for net good in the world.

Except then the wriggling, niggling doubt told him that it would a) be a lie (bad), b) be a temptation of a demon (bad, but to a bad person, but did the ethical algebra make that doubly bad, or cancel itself out?), and c) Crowley would then no longer speak to him.

Crowley not speaking to him was even more ethically complicated. On the one hand, he should not be talking to him. On the other, if he didn’t, then he wouldn’t have any kind of clue what was going on from Hell’s perspective. And he couldn’t then encourage Crowley to do good deeds, or less bad ones. 

The whole ‘also he’s rather entertaining when you forget about the day job’ wasn’t allowed in the equation. Nor was he allowed to include ‘Crowley is tempting me to bad things as I try to encourage him to good things, but good is superior so it will win, even if I, as an angel, am sort of damning myself and what will She think and am I in fact saving some of Crowley’s whatever-isn’t-a-soul by keeping the sin from off him and–’

Basically, he was stuffed. And Crowley (damn and blast him) knew.

He’d known since he found out that Aziraphale had given away that flaming sword. 

He’d agreed to this. And no amount of philosophising would ever come to any satisfying conclusion. Sometimes he wished _he’d_ eaten the damn fruit, then he really would know right from wrong. But humans were **supposed to** , and yet they hadn’t truly come to any satisfying conclusion, either. And how - as Crowley had said - were they supposed to avoid doing bad things if they hadn’t known what bad _was_ , and **God in all Her frustrating awesomeness was just not very forthcoming on this topic and it was all that word he was not allowed to say as much as he did because it was surrendering and _how could you be a good moral agent if you just let others decide and–_**

This was ridiculous.

Ridiculous.

He’d been sitting in this ale house for so long that his buttocks had gone vaguely numb, and the other patrons were distinctly avoiding looking at him.

Crowley had said that, even on specific assignments, there was leeway. Or there was, if you could justify it. You could do an equivalent amount of effort or impact, if you could sell it to the top (bottom?) brass. 

The goal here was to turn the travelling minister. He roamed the rural communities and held communion and ministry to the ones who couldn’t (or didn’t) attend a parish. Crowley hadn’t given him any further instructions, just that he was meant to turn him away from the cloth (and, by extension, the Church, and Heaven). 

But that comment. That one about ‘justifying’ it. Crowley had made a point of saying it, as if it was important. 

Heaven didn’t always understand the intricacies of life on Earth, so perhaps Hell was the same. Perhaps he could ‘fulfil’ Crowley’s obligation, but do so in a way that, maybe, wasn’t quite as bad as Hell thought it would be.

The priest was tired. He’d finished his broth, and he was about to turn in for the night. Aziraphale didn’t want to waste another night in this dive.

A gesture of fingers, of wrist, of cuff tumbling around his hand. 

The young barmaid stepped back from a tumbling patron, and jarred an elbow. sending the last few droplets of broth over a lap. 

It was a _temptation_. It was not forcing him. He was - after all - supposed to make his own mind up. But he also knew this young woman was very inquisitive and good-hearted. And the priest was feeling worn down from the ride and the weather and the pinch of his boots around his toes (tugged that tiny bit tighter, for good measure).

There was no guarantee he would fall in love with her. No guarantee he would find the love of his life, and leave his flock. 

But if he did, perhaps this fall from ‘grace’ might not be as sinful as Hell thought it was. Aziraphale smiled, as he heard the two of them start to laugh.

This would suffice for Hell. And it wouldn’t hurt his conscience too much, either.

It might take some creative book-keeping, but it was not zero-sum, by his reckoning. And now he could go back home.


End file.
